


All that I have

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Grief, Helcaraxë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the aftermath of the death of Elenwë on the Helcaraxë.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that I have

She rubbed his hands, chafing at the skin and raising them to her mouth, blowing out her breath in clouds upon his skin. Then she rubbed them again, holding them close to the tiny, weakly crackling fire beside them. 

“Ah! Irissë, that hurts!”

“Good” she snapped. “That means the feeling is coming back. You might not lose any fingers.”

Resentfully, he snatched his hands away from her, turning away and murmuring something unintelligible. 

“Turno” she said forcefully, snatching his hands back and squeezing them tightly in her own. “If you just said anything to the effect that you  _deserve_  to lose your fingers to the cold, then I swear I’ll…” she gave a snarl of frustration. “What happened to your gloves, anyway?”

“I gave them to Itarillë.”

“She’s asleep and wrapped in Lalwendë’s furs now, but she can have my gloves when she we set out on the next march. They’ll fit her better anyway. In the meantime Turno, stop resisting and let me hold your hands, to warm them.”

He held her gaze for a while, and then with a sigh, he held out his hands and she took them in her own, bunching their fingers in a tangle - as close to the fire as they could get without burning themselves - that at least afforded them both a little warmth.

\------

Ñolofinwë's children were grouped about the little campfire when he arrived back from his rounds of the camp. 

Or at least three of them were. 

“Atar” said Findekáno. He was stitching a hole that had worn through the thumb of his glove with a bone needle and sinew as he spoke, but he looked up at the sight of his father. “The weather is clear now, and Artanis says she Sees that it will be for a few days yet. We have enough meat in store to last the host for three days, by Lalwendë’s best guess. Is it time to move on? Shall we send out the signal to pack up the camp?”

Ñolofinwë turned to look at them with a sigh; a sense of foreboding began to fill him. “How are Turno and Itarillë? Did you manage to get them warm? Are there enough dry clothes?”

“Yes. Well… Itarillë seems fine. She is asleep” said Irissë, who appeared to be untangling Findekáno’s thread for him as he stitched, wrapping it into a neat roll. “Turno…” she grimaced. 

“He is not doing so well” said Arakáno. “We told him to stay by the fire, by the camp, but…” he gestured with a gloved hand out into the dark, beyond the watch fires, and the borders of the camp proper. 

Ñolofinwë cursed, for there was the silhouette of a single figure, staring up at the stars and the green and red lights that played across the sky out here, fur hood falling back to reveal his face in their unearthly glow. 

“Come on” he said, indicating his children to follow him. “We need to talk to your brother.”

“Perhaps I had better - ” began Findekáno, but his father cut him off. 

“No. Come on, all of you.”

When they reached Turukáno, he did not turn to face them but spoke without taking his eyes off the sky above. “Come to tell me that it’s time to move on?”

“Atar wants to tell you exactly what  _we_  did” said Arakáno, in exasperation. “That you shouldn’t stand out here on the ice. It’s not safe outside the camp’s borders, beyond where the scouts have been. There could be thin ice, there could be…” he faltered as Turukáno turned his gaze on him, burning cold. His eyes were red-rimmed and half-filled with tears, but that was normal out here in the frozen north. What made Arakáno stop was the look in those eyes, the pain that filled them.

“As a matter of fact” said Ñolofinwë, giving both Turukáno and Arakáno a quelling look, “I wanted to speak to all of you. Together.”

Irissë frowned up at him. 

“You see those stars?” he said, pointing up. “Your mother sees them too, back in Tirion. Fëanáro and his sons and all his people see them, and the Enemy sees them, from the top of his dark fortress, like as not. And our people see them.”

“What use have we for stars” said Turukáno bluntly. He pointed up at the Valacirca. “A sign from the Valar, in their benevolence? No. It’s a cruel joke only. They have abandoned us.”

Ñolofinwë frowned. “But our people loved the stars before they knew that the Valar had any part in their making. We were born to them, the stars that lit the waters of Cuiviénen.”

“You sound like Fëanáro” said Turukáno, bitterly. 

“Don’t compare Atar to him” snapped Findekáno. 

“Oh, don’t pretend his words in Tirion didn’t find their way into your heart too” said Turukáno, rounding on him. “You were the one who convinced Atar to leave, the one who listened wide-eyed while that - ”

“ _Enough_ ” said Ñolofinwë, separating his two eldest sons by stepping between them. He looked around at his four children. “Finno did not convince me of anything. I left because it was the only path open to me, and I would do the same once again. But that is not what I wanted to speak to you of.” He hesitated. “The four of you will rule kingdoms, when we reach the new lands. You will do it well and justly, I know.” He smiled at them. “But you must know, that sometimes a king is all his people have, all that can keep them together. I have tried to be the best lord of our people that I can be…” his voice caught a little. “But I fear I have failed so many. Elenwë, all the others…” he shook his head. “A king can be all that his people have to hold them together, to keep them going. I  _need_  to be better at it. And you four…” he looked around at their faces. “You are all that  _I_  have to hold me together. You are what keeps  _me_  going.”

“Atar…” Turukáno shook his head, tears rolling freely down his wind-burned face now. He shook his head, lost for words. 

Ñolofinwë opened his arms, and Turukáno let his father wrap him in his arms, made clumsy by their bulky furs. Findekáno, Irissë and Arakáno joined the embrace, and Findekáno felt his own hand brush Turukáno’s awkwardly behind their father’s back, through the stubborn hole in his glove. 

They broke apart after a long moment. “I’m getting cold” said Irissë briskly. “Let’s get back to the camp.”

As they walked back, the lights in the sky blazed overhead, lighting their way nearly as brightly as a new dawn. 


End file.
